


Good As New

by nimrod262



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Country Music, Early Days, M/M, Nivanfeels, Nivanfield, moving in
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-20
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-06-03 11:18:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6608659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nimrod262/pseuds/nimrod262
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's late 2013, Piers is moving in to Chris' old place.  One song seems to sum it all up.  Plenty of Nivanfeels!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good As New

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theosymphany](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theosymphany/gifts).



> This one-off is gifted to my good friend, Theosymphany. He's just returned from a well deserved holiday after writing his thesis. Theo, I hope you're refreshed and relaxed, in fact, I hope you're 'Good As New'! :)

Good as New

Chris Redfield and Piers Nivans haven't always lived together in their house, the Deuce of Hearts, set in the pine woods between the broad sparkling river and the BSAA base in Pennsylvania. No, when Piers first moved in with Chris, in late 2013, the bear owned a very different cave. It was quite . . . well, it was quite bear like. Piers wrinkled his nose and rolled his eyes continuously as Chris guided him through for the first time.

As he was proudly shown around each room, the sniper was already mentally compiling a list; burn the sagebrush, replant the grass, clear the garage of rusted gym gear, paint the lounge, new sofa, kitchen, hmm, new work tops, clean oven, no, better still, a new oven. Piers wasn’t even sure if there was a bed in the 'bed' room, it looked more like the wardrobe had simply fallen over and spilled it's contents. And as for the bathroom, Piers preferred not to even think about it! No wonder Chris never invited anyone 'back to my place'. Like his Captain, the dilapidated house was damaged goods. It was no good, thought Piers, things would have to change. Better right from the outset if they were gonna make a go of living together.

"So, whad’ya think Ace? I could shuffle some stuff around, make some room for your gear. Do you have much? Oh, and there's the attic of course, some space there I guess, if I move my packing cases."

"Your packing cases?"

"Yeh, bin there, oh, I dunno' four, five years, since I moved in. Never got round to them, too busy training you up, and stuff . . . Hah!" Chris forced a hollow laugh. They both knew what 'stuff' meant. They tried not to talk about Edonia and Lanshiang. "So . . ?"

Piers wasn't sure what to say, he was no more experienced at living with a partner than Chris, probably less so. On the other hand, he was used to a certain structure, order . . . basic cleanliness.

He smiled at Chris. "It's just like I always imagined it would be babe."

"Aww, that's so swee . . ."

"It's a shithole, and it's gonna change!"

************************

"Sorry Mom, I'm gonna have to spend it here . . . yeah, it's a shame . . . no, no, don't you come here! At least not until I've finished . . . What? . . . Oh I don't know . . . couple of months perhaps? . . . no, I'm not really joking. You remember when that twister hit the barn? Well it dumped it back down here! . . . Ha! . . .Yeah, I love you too Mom . . . yeah I will. What? Of course I'm happy, never better . . . I always knew he was the one . . . yeah, I remember, you told me . . . Well, now it's come true . . . Where? . . . he's in the oven . . . well all I can see is his ass sticking out . . . Mom! Really, behave! . . . yup, he says he sends bear hugs, and he's wiggling his . . . sorry, gotta go now. . . love you more." Piers put the phone down.

"Babe?"

"Yes?" _Bang!_ "Ouch! my head. . . damn frigging oven. Why couldn't we have a new one?"

"Cos' when we cleaned the outside I realised that underneath layers of burnt fat and spilled food it was actually a period piece, genuine 1950's, goes with the rest of the place."

Chris extracted himself from the oven, grease streaked his face like camo make-up. "I expect you think I'm a period piece too?"

"Hmm, I do like a mature man." Piers pouted.

"Come here you!" Chris opened his arms wide. "Grrr!"

Piers fended him off with a feather duster. "Have you finished it yet?" he said, pointing to the oven with the duster.

"No, dammit, there's two more shelves to go!"

"Well, by the time you've done them I'll have cleaned the bathroom. Then you can shower, and only then can you have some Grrr!"

"Oi, this is my house and I'm your Captain. I _do_ what _I_ want Lieutenant!"

"Dream on Bear! You want sniper butt? You finish cleaning, you shower, and then you can _do_ me all you want!"

"Jeez Nivans! If I'd have known having you move in was gonna' be like this, I'd . . ."

"You'd what?"

"I'd have done it sooner! Now get that bathroom scrubbed clean whilst I get this oven 'ready', he, he! Then you can scrub me down."

"Woof!"

************************

It was about three days into their 'working holiday' that Piers ventured into the dark, spider infested hell hole that Chris called the attic. Given the size of the spiders, it was more like some of the infected locations he'd heard Colonel Valentine describe. But Piers could wield a vacuum cleaner as easily as _Tophie_ , his anti-material rifle. There was a satisfying 'sloop' every time a particularly large specimen passed up and through the tube at speed. And every time it happened Piers would blow over the end of the nozzle like a gunslinger would his smoking gun barrel. "Suck it up Spidey, I never miss!"

He had to find some space for his own gear. The suitcase and army holdall that he'd joined the BSAA with back in 2010 had given birth to various other smaller cases and back-packs. All allocated specific duties, just like the men on his team. One for gun cleaning equipment, one for medical kit, another for camo. He'd have to get some permanent light in the roof space, and some shelving. Chris could do that. It was one of his partner's hidden talents, he was quite the carpenter when he put his mind to it. Piers had asked who'd made the sturdy oak dinning table and chairs downstairs. "Oh, me, for Ma and Pa, just before . . . well, a long time ago. Do you wanna get rid of them? They're kind of a memento."

He'd looked so sad for an instant, like a little boy lost. "No, they're staying babe, I love them . . ." Piers loved them even more now he knew they'd been made by the same hands that held him so close and tenderly at night. ". . . they're beautiful, I didn't know you were so good with, ahem, wood." He grinned. "Could stand some polish though."

Chris growled. "Mmm, I like polishing 'wood', raising a shine, so to speak."

Piers laughed. "You've got a one track mind Chris Redfield! You can polish . . . the table. I'll be in Spider City."

And that's when he found it, the old Fender Stratocaster, still in its original case. It was the writing that had first attracted Piers' attention. 'Property of Christopher J Redfield - 1986' Chris had owned a guitar? Piers flipped open the catches, the guitar lay on its faded green velvet cushion, two colour sunburst in bright red and cream. The paint work was dull, and there was rust around the bases of the controls and the bridge. A couple of broken strings. It didn't look as if it would work anymore. Another memento? Piers wondered.

As he took the guitar out of it's case he saw a card underneath. It said 'Happy Birthday' on the front, above a stylised picture of a guitar player, complete with a slick-backed quiff and gyrating hips. He opened it, almost guiltily. There was a handwritten message inside. _'To our darling Christopher, Happy Fourteenth Birthday, Lots of Love, Ma and Pa.'_ He put the card reverently back in the case. It felt like he'd been prying. Then he ran his hand along the surviving strings, his Captain had played these once upon a happier time. And that's when Piers got the idea . . .

************************

"I'm going into town babe . . . anything you want?"

"Some food would be nice. What was the point in my cleaning the oven if you won’t let me use it now?"

"Cos it's gonna' stay that way. You use, you clean it, otherwise it 'remains out of bounds'.

"Damn it Piers, this is my home too! Can I at least turn it on to warm the plates up?"

"I guess so." Piers gave Chris a smoochy full-on kiss. "Mmmmph, shan't be long . . . burgers and fries OK?"

"Make mine a whoppa!"

"Ooh, feels like it is already!" said Piers as Chris held him in for another kiss. "I'll take my wagon, he, er, it needs a run . . ."

They were making a daily run into Williamsport, taking trash to the dump, picking up paint and supplies. Today Piers had another destination in mind, a secret one. He jumped into his El Camino, fired it up and patted the steering wheel, "Hello _Cristobal_ , fancy a drive?"

He’d been given the bright yellow pick-up after his recovery from Lanshiang. It had been Chris' idea. A form of physical and mental therapy for Piers; whilst he awaited medical and psychological clearance for a return to service. The restoration had occupied Piers for most of the autumn. The short-block 350 V8 he’d bought was in good condition, but finding spares for the forty-four year old car had been a problem. Which is exactly what Chris had hoped. It kept Piers busy and focussed, and doing the work in the MT section on base had kept him in touch with his friends and colleagues. At the end of the resto Piers had the car of his dreams, which is why he named him _Cristobal_ , Spanish for Christopher. Though up to now he hadn't told Chris that. He'd had enough 'banter' from everyone when they found out he'd named his anti-material rifle _Tophie_!"

His secret stop in town was 'Don's Musical Emporium'. It was the sort of shop that had more space inside than out, and stocked everything and then some. Piers got all his country music cd's from Don, who used to be in a band himself back in the 70's. Never major league, but always fully booked.

"Hi Piers! What can I do for you today young man?"

"Would you have a look at this for me please Don? I'd like to get it working again."

"Oh boy, that takes me back, an '85, '86 Strat. Didn't have you figured as a picker."

Piers laughed, "I'm not, I can sing and hold a tune, but I prefer things with a trigger. It's for a friend, sort of a surprise."

Don tapped his nose conspiratorially, "Your secret's safe with me Piers. Hmm, it's seen better days, the pots look rusted out, they do that over time, strings, no problem, the body's good, bridge, yeah, I can do something with this. Leave it with me, OK?"

"Um, I'd like to do as much myself Don, sorta' make it special, you now?"

"You'll ruin me Piers!" Don grinned, "Tell you what, leave it with me, I'll check it out, find out what it needs, get the parts and you can do the work. How 'bout that?"

"OK, will getting parts be a problem? You know the trouble I had with my car!"

"No, I don't think so . . . I've got some old broken guitars and spares out the back anyways. Come back the same time tomorrow, alright?"

"Great."

"You got an amp, and a speaker to go with it?"

"Er, no there's a lot of gear in that loft of Chris', but I haven't seen anything like that."

"Right, I'll add them to the list. You still cleaning up at Chris' old place then?"

"Yeah, I could do with some new music to listen to actually. I've just about run through my current collection."

"Music while you work eh? Try this, _Set You Free_ , Gary Allan, s'been out a while, but I think you'll like it, knowing your taste for alternative country. On account?"

"Yeh, might as well, whilst I'm racking it up. Thanks Don, tomorrow then . . . gotta go, Chris needs feeding!"

"Good luck with that young man!"

On the way back to Chris' Piers slipped the cd into the player, the songs told a story, about a guy breaking-up, losing love and then finding it again. It ran the gamut of emotions, and it struck a chord . . .

************************

Over the next couple of days Piers listened to the album over and over whilst he was cleaning and fixing things around the house. Piers had a good voice, and Chris would listen with a mixture of admiration and amusement as his partner 'lost' himself in the music. Admiration because Piers had a fine voice; amusement because Piers was trying to sing in a baritone rather than his normal tenor, as if he were trying to match whoever was singing on his pod, it sounded . . . odd.

Don had been as good as his word, and Piers had collected the old guitar the day after he'd left it. He also collected a small box of replacement parts, plus a speaker-amp. "You won't need many tools Piers, a small soldering iron, an avometer to test the pots and the pick-ups, and you'll be there."

"No problem Don, we're well equipped on that front." Piers had said. The problem was trying to fix the Strat without Chris finding out. Piers took to working up in the attic. Pulling up the folding ladder behind him, that way he could keep Chris out, or at least get warning of his approach.

"What are you doing up there Ace? All I hear is your muffled voice in the attic these days. I didn't have that much crap up there . . . did I?"

"You did, and you still do. Besides, I've got my own stuff to go through. Now you've got the shelving up I gotta sort it out properly, neatly."

"Piers? Are you, um, OCD by any chance? I mean, I know you like things done by the book and all that with Alpha; got the boys trained up really well these days. But I didn't think you'd be the same here."

Piers popped his head down from the trap door, his hazel eyes sparkling.

"Are you missing me then bear?"

Chris put on his 'sad' face. "Yes. Even if it's just you telling me what to fix next. Have you got someone up there?"

"Nope, I'm just about done anyway. Have you finished painting?"

"No, I was just about to start, it would be quicker with two though."

"Alright, fix us both a coffee and I'll be down in five, then we can paint together."

"You're a slave driver Nivans, you know that? Andy says so too, and Ben, and Carl and Finn . . ."

"Yeah, yeah, that's why you hired me, remember? New right-hand."

"Grrr!"

"Was that a good Grrr or a bad Grrr?"

"Bad, very bad!"

Piers put the guitar lovingly back in it's case. "Your good as new now." he said, closing the lid quietly. The electrics checked out 'A-OK' on the meter, He'd done as much as he could without playing it. As they enjoyed their coffee in the sparkling kitchen the phone rang. Chris took the call in lounge. When he returned he looked rather upset.

"That was the US Army."

"Oh?"

"They want you back."

"What!"

"Up at Picatinny Arsenal, New Jersey. Remington's are having some problems with the Mk 21 Precision Sniper Rifle apparently. A Col Scott Armstrong particularly requested you."

"Oh yeah, he took over from Col Tamillio. Well, I'm on leave, they can find someone else."

"Er, Col Valentine's already said yes."

Piers rolled his eyes. He never had a good relationship with Jill. "She owes me!"

"That's what I said."

"When?"

"You gotta flight tomorrow first thing, back in four days."

"Four days! Shit! Best start painting then! I'll pack tonight."

"Oh! Don't you wanna' pack now? I'll give you a hand."

Piers handed Chris a brush and a can of paint. "No, _we_ paint now, _I_ pack later. You won't get off that easily! And I'll leave you a job list before I go. Don't think you've got four days off Captain."

************************

Chris got the text from Piers after he'd dropped him off to catch his plane.

'Forgot to tell you this morning, left something for you in the loft. Enjoy! P.'

Chris scratched his head. Strange, Piers never forgot anything, especially if it was to do with his Captain. Intrigued, he pulled the fold-away ladder down . . .

. . . Chris sat on the bed, the guitar resting in his lap. He hadn't finished crying. It looked just like the day his parents gave it to him. And all the memories had come flooding back with the recollection, the sad, the bad. But oh! so many that were good and happy. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand and blinked away the tears. "Damn it Piers, you know how to play me just like I know how to play this old boy." He picked up the guitar and his fingers ran along the neck. "Like riding a bike." And that's when Chris got the idea . . .

"What's that song he's been singing all week? Something about Good News or other? Where's that cd of his? . . ."

************************

It was late when Piers returned home, and he wasn't in a particularly good mood. The trials at Picatinny had gone well enough, they'd needed someone who could hit accurately and repeatedly at over one click, from a range of firing positions. No, that wasn't the problem. The problem was Chris had called to say he'd probably be out when Piers returned. He was meeting up with the boys, did he mind making his own way home? Well, he did!

The house was in darkness by the time he arrived. He opened the door and put his holdall down. "Chris? . . . Chris, are you back?" There was a faint light coming from the lounge. He heard the opening bars of a familiar song, the tremolo effect of the guitar intro was spot on. "Chris, is that you babe?" he opened the door just as a deep, gravelly voice began to sing . . .

_“I had a broken watch, on a broken chain_

_I had a roof that leaked, every time it rained_

_I had an old guitar, that wouldn't stay in tune_

_But now it sounds just fine since I've met you,_

_I'm good as new_

 

_I had some crazy thoughts, runnin' through my brain_

_Wonderin' if my life, was goin' down the drain_

_I had a broken heart, broken right in two_

_But now it's in one piece since I've met you,_

_I'm good as new_

 

_You Made my life like a lullaby_

_You put the spark back into my eyes_

_You put the shine in the shining sea_

_And you hung the moon where it should be,_

_Now my old yard, is looking nice and green_

_And my old car, well, it's a clean machine_

_Even my old dog, she can feel it too_

_It's not the same old thing since I've met you,_

_I'm good as new_

_Since I've met you_

_Well I'm good as new_

_Since I've met you_

_I'm good as new.”_

 

By the time the vibrato of the final guitar chords had died away they were both crying, happy tears.

"Wow! Thank you Chris. That was quite some homecoming."

"No Piers, thank you, it was a beautiful thing you did. Damn, you're so good for me, come here . . ."

Later, as they lay side by side in the freshly painted bedroom, their bodies lit by flickering candlelight, Chris looked at Piers and smiled.

"You said I was damaged goods once. Well Piers Nivans, you've fixed me up, just like this old house. Thank you . . . my love." He kissed him gently.

"You're welcome Christopher J Redfield, just doing my job, looking after my Captain."

Chris held him tight in his arms. "And you?" said Chris quietly "You were pretty broke after, well, you know. Are you OK too Piers ?"

"Never better Chris, in fact, you could say I'm good as new." Piers smiled up at his partner. They kissed again, and then again. When Piers came up for air, he cocked his head to one side, his eyes sparkling in the candlelight. "By the way, what _does_ the 'J' stand for . . .?"

 

**Author's Note:**

> The lovely Gary Allan song that inspired this tale was written by two talented Country songwriters:  
> BILLY BURNETTE and PAT MCLAUGHLIN  
> Published by: Lyrics © BMG RIGHTS MANAGEMENT US, LLC, CORN COUNTRY MUSIC
> 
> Thank you.
> 
> PS If you can’t view the video for whatever reason, the song is on Spotify!


End file.
